Mr Holmes Takes A Wife
by conchepcion
Summary: Miss Hooper is forced to marry the seemingly cold Mr Holmes, however she is entirely wrong about his character. Learning quite a lesson from the man himself.


Mr Hooper upon marrying his wife with her 2000 pounds was considered a fortunate man, even more so when he over time accumulated a great estate and 10 000 a year. Importance was never of a great consequence to Mr Hooper, contrasting Mrs Hooper who strode into society desiring to keep her head high in the ton. She wished for an advantageous marriage for her eldest daughter Molly who's bloom was well-admired, though insatiable curiosity and forthrightness distanced any mild tempered young gentleman through her best years, until she was teeming on spinsterhood.

Mrs Hooper however found an offer from a highly esteemed family of the nobler kind with barouche boxes enough to satiate her elegant mind for weeks, but the proposal she then put forward to her then 27 year old daughter was countered with a blank refusal, "Sir Holmes' son is close to your age, and I am told is quite the intellect!"

"_Mama_!" Miss Hooper exclaimed, storming out of the library with a book in her hand, desirous to end the fruitless discussion as quickly as possible. She was a great walker and employed her legs thusly to get out of her mother's grasp, intending to seek out her father who was as usual in his study, "Papa -," she stopped in her stride, standing outside the doorstep taking in the sight of her father's rather severe countenance, "Papa?" her once confident speech, became rather diminished.

His mouth was a firm thin line; his greying brows furrowed, "You will do as your mama wishes-,"

Not once in her twenty-seven years had he ever been indulgent to her mother's _advantageous suitors,_ all of them seeking fortune where they only had titles, "But-,"

"There will be no buts – no arguments – or quarrelling over this matter any further young lady – you will do as you're told-," said Mr Hooper in such a way that half-tore the air from her lungs, until she hastily escaped the study.

Even Mrs Hooper was caught unawares, startled by her husbands passionate ejaculations, until she pursued her daughter at the prospect of soothing her nerves. Upon departing the study she did not see her husband's defeated expression, neither did she catch the sight of a letter crumpled in his hand, which he submitted to the heat in the fire place, watching the parchment burn to a crisp.

This particular letter forced his hand, and made him acquire the help of the young gentleman Mr Holmes in the protection of his daughter from the charlatan Mr Moriarty.

* * *

Miss Hooper had grown accustomed to Bartholomew, of the narrow over-grown paths and secret passageways that would eventually lead up to the great estate. The past fortnight had been for her an outlandish experience with no comparison. No one paid heed to her silent suffering, or allowed her to revel in it, other than make her understand that she was to attend the chapel in some few days.

Her impending _husband_ that she had yet to lay eyes upon contorted into a vile villainous creature – snaking out as if from a novel by _Mrs Radcliffe_ – a cruel man, she could only presume. She would not enter into matrimony joyfully, not even inclined to chose anything but the plainest of wedding clothes, despite her mother's protestations and enquires into finer silk.

There would be no glad tidings or joyous exclamations in this forthcoming marriage; her own father had thrust her into. Mr Hooper whom she had never assumed would ever put her upon such a cursed task. Alas, she was sadly mistaken about her own father's character. He had turned dark, keeping himself in his study at all times, and only partaking in meals silently, without breathing a word of any cheerful note to set her spirits higher. Her only comfort was her younger brother Tobias who had at first argued chiefly that is must have been some jest put upon her, except upon speaking with Mr Hooper he was sorely mistaken, "I am dreadfully sorry dear sister to find you so disheartened, but perhaps there will be some fortune to be fond in your husband. I hear a great many talk of him in the ton."

"And it is…good?" she said with a deep-set frown, to which her brother heartily laughed.

"You mustn't make him the villain quite yet! Though I have heard him spoken to be a rather _irregular_ gentleman."

Miss Hooper did not know if that bode well or not, her feelings however were already made up upon the subject, whatever her brother said would not desist her growing prejudice against the one who would secure her future unhappiness.

It was during one of her walks where she was studiously occupied in one of Mr Hooper's rather interesting volumes regarding medicine (an occupation that she was sure if she had been the proper sex, she would be most occupied in) that she found herself encountering a gentleman upon horseback. She started, threading backwards carefully in fright, her hand brought upon her bosom in surprise over the stature of the man astride the stallion. He had a most interesting face, a set of startling eyes, which flitted between forest green and the deep sea, "Oh!" she uttered in shock, unable to keep her surprise from being uttered.

She knew how her mama detested her walks, as she often surmised the off-chance that ruffians might overtake her if she did not thread carefully, but this man did not bear any semblance to such. His clothes were fully black; such attire suited more for a wake, though the white of his cravat shook that grievance away. Nor did he look entirely gentleman like with the wild dark curls that protruded from underneath his hat, seeming untamed.

There was something about his air, which gave her the belief that he was as the sturdiest mare in their stables. His expression so stoic, that she was astonished when he tilted his hat to her in salutation, before riding off without a word in greeting.

They had not been introduced, so she would not know what to have said if he did indeed speak. But she noted the brief tug of his mouth, jerking upwards before he disappeared from her line of sight, which gave her more beatings in her heart than she was in a want for.

It wasn't before she returned to Bartholomew intending to have some luncheon that she was even more put out to find this particular gentleman in the sitting room, "Mr Holmes - Molly – your fiancé," said her father in the harshest of tones.

She was struck silent by Mr Holmes' deep bow that seemed almost sardonic, contrasting his eyes that were full of some indistinguishable emotion, "He will be dining with us…I am sure you would not mind to give him a short tour of the grounds?"

She stared in silence, intending to protest to at least quell her hunger, "I believe Molly is in need of some luncheon. It would be cruel to set her out on another walk on an empty stomach - Mr Hooper," said Mr Holmes, disquieting her out of her reverie.

"I – yes, papa. Indeed I am…famished…" she said, staring at the man.

She tried not to be struck by the fact that he had chosen to use her given name, making her question his abilities as a gentleman, however, she knew that their engagement allowed him such liberties.

"Very well then, I suppose that Mr-," her father begun.

"I am fine Mr Hooper – some coffee, however, wouldn't be amiss," Mr Holmes said with an attempt at a smile.

* * *

Miss Hooper had never been fully subjected to courting to understand all of the intricate patterns, but she was quite certain that the tangible silence that Mr Holmes kept while sitting with her was the reverse of it.

He didn't seem familiar with social niceties, though he did thank her for the coffee, which she had administered on her own; due to her own stubbornness regarding duties that she felt weren't at all un-lady-like.

Mr Holmes did not complain, giving only a mild frown at the coffee, "So…Mr Holmes," she began, wishing to push the tête-à-tête that would most likely take place anyhow forward, "We -,"

"- are to be married, yes. I am well aware _Miss_ Hooper."

Somehow he felt the necessity to keep propriety when they were very much alone, which she somehow felt dissatisfied with.

She mimicked his earlier grimace herself, settling herself upright in her chair with a mild sniff, "Do you always finish other people's discourse for them, sir?"

"If I find them pointless, Miss Hooper, then yes, especially when I know there are other enquiries you'd rather grieve me with," he said with a sigh, settling his cup aside with a clutter on the china platter.

Rigid upon her seat she said, "I do not wish to marry you."

He did not seem shaken by this news, his hand adjusting the cup in its saucer, "Nor I you," he said coldly, his gaze set upon hers.

When it came to Mr Holmes – Miss Hooper could trust him to astonish her, but the greatest of shocks did not truly befall her until after their nuptials.

* * *

She had not wept when the maids had assisted her into her gown, handing her the freshly plucked flowers, which her mother had made the gardener choose, letting her small hands hold them.

No brightness existed in her eyes, as her veil was drawn forward, and her future was on the aisle in front of her looking excessively irked by the proceeding. At her hesitant first steps she saw his entire countenance alter, though the mien soon went to the familiar dour expression she was accustomed to, and she presumed she had been remiss in her attentions.

"_- Therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God-,"_

Miss Hooper's _'I do'_ was said quietly, the ring gently placed upon her finger with sympathy she did not expect the gentleman - _her husband_ to have. Departing from the wedding in their curricle, forced to face a gathering afterwards, where all congratulated her on her good fortune and title was indeed not the consolation she sought throughout the affair, but she kept any disagreeable look at bay, after all she was _Mrs Holmes_, she would have to make due.

Mr Holmes barely spoke a word throughout the whole, those he spoke were of an disagreeable nature, taking to slight some of the guests who all took it in their stride, clapping him amiably in mirth, assuming that it was indeed his nerves, more than any natural aspect within him.

Mrs Holmes dared not correct their presumptions and lead most of the exchanges herself, occasionally with her husband supplying a curt nod from behind her. When they were finally sanctioned to quit Bartholomew's festivities, it was then she finally let the depth of her sorrow be exposed, knowing what to expect when their journey took them to his home. Mrs Hooper had enlightened her in the particulars of what a gentleman anticipated from his bride, liberties he was free to take, which she bound by duty would have to suffer through. Except upon arriving to their estate Mr Holmes retired to his own rooms, bidding her goodnight with a low bow, and she did not see him for the next fortnight.

* * *

It became known to Mrs Holmes that Mr Holmes had the propensity to withdraw at great intervals, either to his smaller house in London or occupy himself with rather peculiar activities. Her husband was indeed an eccentric gentleman, invigorated by a great deal many things, though none of them were the pursuits that drove other gentleman to distraction. He was proficient in many of those activities, though he detested them according to one of the maids, for there was a great deal of chatter about the master in the household, but few of the staff had been part of the Holmes-line. Mr Holmes seemed rather ardent in his refusal of accepting those his older brother had proposed, a letter that she saw him throw at breakfast with a mild snort, before departing shortly after she was seated.

They barely spoke three words combined together, having none of the felicity she often had envisioned for herself, if she had indeed married for love, which had been her desire. Indeed she found herself enquiring into his eccentricities, for she grew knowledgeable about the man, finding that he was engrossed in matters such as science and 'deduction'. All of which she was rather unfamiliar with.

Mrs Holmes knew one thing for certain, that he did not share their marital bed, which she at first rejoiced over, but in time found rather vexing. He seemed to care a very little for her, spending more of his leisure time with his friend the bachelor Mr Watson, both of whom employed themselves with cases of a curious kind.

She knew a great deal of them due to Mr Watson's accounts on their exploits, yet, none were ever told to her by her husband who seemed to be bent upon eluding her. To begin with she was not troubled, keeping to herself and being mistress of their estate with little trepidation, but as time flew – so did her relief in such work.

Mrs Holmes did not fully comprehend why she was so forlorn about the subject of her husband, until one night she had taken to bed and he strode into her bedchambers, the wildest of expressions in his eyes. Drawing her sheets up under her chin, she had stared at the man, stood only in his breeches, his brows drawn together in a puzzled expression. She gasped the second he jumped upon the bed like a wild creature, hovering above her mortified face, his breath tickling her skin.

It was the closest they had ever been, her bosom heaving underneath the weight of his body that covered hers easily, his piercing eyes dancing across her form, before a smirk played at his lips. Her own eyes could not be drawn away from him, briefly only catching the sight of his bare pale chest. When he caught her stare, he leaned towards her lips, his face so close – before he withdrew, alarm writ upon his face, slamming the door of her bedchamber shut.

Her heart had thumped soundly, forcing her to call for her maid, at which the maid quickly brought out a soothing cup of tea, but it did not still her concerns.

She begged the woman to leave her, restlessly quitting her bed, wandering throughout her room, attempting to steady herself, unable to alleviate her mind, before her feelings became fully known to her, "I…love him, oh - what cruel misfortune."

It was cruel to adore a man she had long detested, who she had long worked herself into loathing, but found that she could not.

* * *

The knowledge of her affection made the days seem bleaker, for Mr Holmes did not call for her, and he did not visit her bedchambers unannounced again. All of his days upon the estate were spent fully occupied in his laboratory, bolted inside there for hours, never seeming to need any respite. Mrs Holmes did at times consider herself brave, though her daring could never be exhibited if he kept himself away from her. She did not discern if she was prohibited to enter, for the servants were entirely so, as his laboratory was not to be dusted or cleaned.

Devising a plan, Mrs Holmes left her chambers prior to the entry of her maid determined to have some exchange with her husband, for she could not endure the silence between them. Perhaps he did not desire her, though she remembered the wildness in his eyes to vividly, the inducement, which she found she would not have protested towards if propositioned.

The house was still quiet, only the brief movement of some of the staff was heard; their morning absolutions being taken care of, while she sprang in the empty halls in only her nightdress. She knew the impropriety of her apparel, but there was no time, if she were to lure him out. But to Mrs Holmes' astonishment the man was not in his secretive_ laboratory_.

None of the furnishings, or fittings gave her the belief that it was for the use of acquiring knowledge or science, for it did not fit the mould she had set upon it – with its luxurious set of furniture. Her disappointment was heavy indeed, for her husband did not have any interests, whatsoever, and only wanted to keep out of sight.

It wasn't before she was called upon to visit the room herself, not long after trespassing that she fully realised the rooms potential and that her husband had made it with_ her_ in mind.

At the very beginning of their marriage _Mr Watson_ had consoled her, of her husbands nature, "Holmes' heart is quite secret. No one knows of its intricate workings, but I am quite assured that his heart…belongs to you Mrs Holmes, whatever he might say."

She had refuted him, arguing her point forward, but in her _current_position – she felt she had horrendously mistaken his cold nature for suppressed passion, which she did not know if she _could_ live through.

When she had been called she found herself dreading to enter what several of the servants claimed were his actual _chambers_. His deep voice sounding out to her, his back straight as he stared right at her, "And what did you find out in your pursuit to figure me out Mrs Holmes?"

His knowing did not throw her off, knowing as he was if anything was out of order in any way, even making the chief maid Mrs Hudson tremble when he had found her dusting within those rooms, "That this is not a room of science," she said, not allowing herself to be disquieted by his look of contempt.

"It is."

"And what science would that be, sir?" she said rather angrily.

Oh, how she regretted those very words, though if she were given the chance she would have them uttered again and again, despite the knowledge of what would then come to pass.

Mrs Holmes had retained her virtue for quite some time, longer than she would have ever presumed, but she never suspected it would be taken from her in that very chamber instead of their marital bed. Neither had she any inclination to assume that she would only be unclothed in front of her husband, done by his own amorous hands that stroked her into submission with attentive care that almost seemed practised.

Being bound to a pillar with silken ropes, and a cloth covering her eyes was perhaps not what she anticipated at all, neither did she owe the concept that she would enjoy the torment devised by her husband, while he murmured against her ear in a most forbidden tone, "There are different types of science, Molly, perhaps I shall make you thoroughly acquainted with this specific branch…_some_ punishment must be had for your wilful disobedience."

She could only wriggle weakly against her bindings, while his hand lovingly stroked her, seizing the cold conflict between them and reaping a new age entirely. One which the servants would speak of low tones about, informing that their master and mistress were fully employed when in the laboratory.

* * *

**A/N: **_Previously put up on tumblr, decided to edit and add a bit (might have missed loads). Depending on the 'reaction' to this, I might add a chapter with 'stuff', though that might require me to re-read - The way of a man with a maid. I do 'not' recommend that book, **at all**, but I am willing to use it for some inspiration. If you do read it, do not blame me for your agony (!) Google the synopsis and you'll be taking a step back in fear. Thank you for reading! _


End file.
